


Durin's Day

by SaucyWench



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 01:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16398602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaucyWench/pseuds/SaucyWench
Summary: Ain't no party like a Shire party!





	Durin's Day

**Author's Note:**

> My partner was Lucife56, and we used a prompt generator. The prompt was "dancing, fruit, and shoes" so this is what you get. Happy Durin's Day!

Fili was fastening the aiglet on his mustache braid when a knock sounded on his bedroom door.  The door was already opening when he called out, “Come in.”

“This is ridiculous.”  Kili walked in and spread his arms. 

“Your face is ridiculous.”  Once the automatic urge to tease his brother was appeased, Fili turned around and looked him over.  “You look fine.”

Kili huffed a sigh.  “I’m not used to wearing so little.  I feel naked.”

Kili was dressed in a simple tunic of midnight blue, so dark it was close to black.  It was a thin fabric, and he had a small silver bow and arrow embroidered on the left breast.  His trousers were charcoal gray, made of the same light fabric, and ended midway down his shins.  Fili was dressed similarly, except his tunic was a deep forest green with two crossed swords embroidered in gold on his breast, and his trousers were a tawny brown.  They were barefooted and bore no metal on them except the beads in their hair. 

Dwarves customarily dressed in layers.  The temperature of a mine or cave might seem chilly at first, but once they began working, they’d warm up quickly.  Having layers of clothing that could be removed or added as needed only made sense.  The thick, heavy boots were sensible too, for people who spend time in areas where sharp rocks were scattered around, or when something heavy might be dropped onto sensitive toes. 

Fili had to agree that forgoing the usual layers of clothing made him feel exposed.  Going without any weapons, not so much as a small dagger tucked into his belt, felt downright scandalous and he didn’t like it.  Even so, he shrugged and told Kili, “It’s customary for the holiday.”

“Yes, well, we make for some strange looking hobbits.”  Kili gestured as he said, “Sit down and I’ll braid the back of your hair.”

Fili offered his brush and sat on a stool in front of the vanity, turning so Kili could reach.  He watched his brother in the mirror.

This was an old habit for them.  Kili had been playing with Fili’s hair as long as they both could remember and become adept at plaiting it over the years.  He didn’t much care how his own hair looked, but Kili took pride in knowing he helped Fili look his best. 

For his part, Fili enjoyed the action more than the result.  The brushing and soft, rhythmic tugging always helped settle his nerves.  He treasured this time with his brother, too.  Most people only got to see Kili when he was acting the part of the careless fool, brash and reckless.  They didn’t get to see Kili as he was now, the tip of his tongue caught between his teeth as he concentrated on weaving Fili’s hair just so, being careful to keep the tension without pulling.  Fili knew there was a smart mind and big heart under the façade, and he felt privileged to be one of the few people who got to see it.  

“There,” Kili said as he secured the bead at the end of Fili’s braid.  “All done.” 

Fili didn’t bother to check Kili’s work.  He knew it looked fine.  He also didn’t bother to offer to fix Kili’s braids – he was not much good at it, and always made poor Kili’s hair snarl up when he tried.  They were going to a public festival.  It wouldn’t do for Kili to look like he’d been attacked by a deranged bird. 

“Did you find anything out about what is expected of us?” Kili asked.

Fili shook his head.  “Everyone keeps telling me to have fun and not worry about it.”

Kili grimaced, but then shrugged.  “I guess we’ll follow Bilbo’s lead.”

Dwarves had strict protocol for their ceremonies and celebrations.  There were rules to be followed and everyone knew their roles for the day.  Even those who were just spectators had designated observation areas, so as to not interrupt anything important. 

The only information Fili had about today was that it was an event to celebrate the harvest and the goddess Yavanna.  Bilbo had ordered the clothes to be custom-made for them, since dwarves generally don’t wear this sort of attire.  None of the hobbits would be wearing anything made of metal and would be dressed similarly.  The dwarves were given leeway on that and were allowed to wear their metal beads and other decorations, but Bilbo had expressly requested they not carry any weapons.  Aside from that, the only descriptions Fili got about the day were vague.

Whatever.  It shouldn’t be too hard to sit or stand along with everyone else during whatever ceremony hobbits have for their worship.  No one would call upon a visiting dwarf to do anything.  And even if they were attacked by something here in the shire, their weapons were safely stowed in a chest by the fireplace.  It would only take a moment to retrieve them, and dwarves were dangerous in their own right even when unarmed. 

Fili still felt naked, though.  In any event, it was time to go. 

He asked Kili, “Are you ready?”

When Kili nodded, Fili led the way out of the bedroom.

The smial was usually quiet, but today it was chaos.  A small army of strange hobbits had taken over the kitchen, and they all seemed to be talking at the same time.  As Fili watched, one young lady stole a sliver of carrot from a cutting board and popped it in her mouth.  The older woman standing at the counter kept cutting, silver knife flashing without missing a beat as she scolded the younger one.  A hobbit took something out of the oven, holding it high over his head so someone could duck beneath him on their way to the sink.  A woman stirred something in a bowl with one hand as she took a sip from a mug with the other.  They were all dressed similarly to Fili and Kili, except their outfits were brightly colored and most of them wore aprons.  In between the colors and the chatter, they reminded Fili of a flock of birds.  He couldn’t help but be impressed when nothing was spilled and no one was injured in the crowded kitchen. 

The woman looked up from her knifework and saw Fili.  She set aside the knife and came to greet him.  “Master Fili!  Yavanna’s blessings be upon you!  And you as well, Master Kili.  My, don’t you both look handsome.  You’re just in time, too.  Would you mind lending a hand?”

Fili smiled and bowed his head in greeting as he told her, “I’m sorry, my lady, but I’m afraid I’m not much of a chef.”

“Pshaw, not that, I doubt we could squeeze one more cook into the kitchen,” she said as she flapped a hand.  With an exaggerated leer, she added, “I hoped I could use you young men for your muscles.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Fili saw Kili blush.  He grinned and winked at her before replying in a flirty tone.  “Well then, we are at your service.”

“Oh, I like you.  That keg in the corner needs to go to the party tree.  Would you mind carrying it?”

“Not at all.”

She left them and returned to her chopping, and they got the keg.  It was full and heavy, and took both of them to lift it.  After a bit of squabbling and a few adjustments, they were able to maneuver it out the door with Kili shuffling backward.  Once they got on the path, it was wide enough that they were able to walk side by side and carry the keg at the same time. 

It was hard to miss the party tree.  You could see it all over the shire, and it was decorated with streamers and ribbons today.  If that was not enough of an indication of which way to go, they could have followed the sounds of the hobbits gathering.  Snippets of conversation and laughter floated to them on the breeze.  At the noise, Fili and Kili exchanged a grin over the top of the keg. 

“Sounds like the party’s already started,” Kili said. 

A fauntling ran by, shouting for her mother.  Her feet flashed red.

“Is she hurt?” Fili asked, turning to watch her as she passed them. 

“Hey!” Kili snapped.  Fili’s turning almost caused him to drop his end of the keg.  Once Fili straightened and balance was restored, Kili said, “I didn’t see.  Should we go after her?”

There were no cries of alarm, and they could do nothing for her that the kitchen full of hobbits couldn’t do.  Fili shook his head.  “Let’s drop this off first.”

The old gaffer – Fili was not sure if this was a name, honorific, or term of endearment – saw them first and hailed them.  The others let out a cheer, not for the dwarves, but that the ale had arrived.  Fili grinned as he helped set the keg up as directed.  Hobbits were unfailingly polite, right up until it came to food.  Then it often became a case of every man for himself.  Hobbits were already crowding around the keg when he stepped back out of the way.

A squeal of laughter caught his attention.  A large tarp had been spread on the ground to one side of the huge tree, surrounded by bushels of fat grapes that were so deep a color they looked black in the shade.  As he watched, two young men upended a bushel, spilling grapes across the tarp.  The two hobbits dropped the basket to the side and jumped into the middle of the grapes, squashing several.  They were quickly joined by others, all of them stomping and laughing, holding on to each other’s shoulders so they wouldn’t fall.  Their feet were stained red, explaining the fauntling they had seen.  The tarp was arranged in such a way that the juice from the crushed fruit ran off into a shallow container.  This had been going on for a while already, as evidenced by a pile of crushed grapes shoved to one side. 

Kili nudged Fili with his elbow and handed him a mug brimming with ale.  Fili took a sip so it wouldn’t spill. 

“Don’t look now,” Kili murmured, while tilting his head to side, “but I think you have an admirer.”

There was a young fauntling with her skirts tucked up into her belt, barefoot like all the hobbits, and munching on a slice of seedcake.  She had grass in her hair, and her feet were stained red, along with a portion of her clothing.  She was giving Fili an unimpressed look with one tiny fist on her hip. 

Fili gave her a short bow and the typical greeting for the day.  “Yavanna’s blessings upon you, my lady.”

Around a mouthful of cake, she replied, “So, you’re a dwarf.”

She sounded so much like Thorin’s “I’m disappointed in you” tone that Fili had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.  Behind him, Kili was unable to keep his composure and snorted, choked on his ale, and started to cough. 

Fili threw an elbow behind him and made contact with Kili’s stomach, if the quiet ‘oof’ was any indication.  To the fauntling, he said, “I’m Fili, at your service.”

She took another bite and looked him over.  “I thought you’d be bigger.”

“Camellia Cotton!  Where are your manners?”  The gaffer waddled up, a plate in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.  “Don’t be rude to our guests.  What do you say?”

Camellia heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes, as if greatly put upon.  She swallowed before saying, “Yavanna’s blessings upon you.”

“Good girl.  Why don’t you go and see if anyone brought the pie out yet?  I hear there’s apple.”  Watching the child run off, he added in an undertone to Fili, “She’s from those Bywater Cottons.  They don’t know how to act in town.”

Fili nodded.  If they thought the quaint shire was a town, he wondered how the hobbits would fare in one of the cities of man.  He didn’t say so, though.  Instead he offered the day’s blessings. 

“Oh, sure, blessings on you,” the gaffer replied, dismissing the thought with a wave of his wine goblet.  “Or I guess I should say Durin’s blessings, eh?  Isn’t this your Durin’s Day?”

“Yes, it is,” Fili said with a nod.  He was impressed.  Hobbits were not exactly xenophobic, but they often had a casual disregard for anything that was not hobbit-related.  For the gaffer to know it was a dwarven holiday, especially when dwarves were known for being secretive, was quite unusual. 

The gaffer grinned.  “Bet this is nothing like your festivals, eh?  Say what you will, but hobbits know how to throw a celebration.”  He managed to balance his plate on top of his wineglass to free up a hand and pop a tidbit into his mouth.  After he swallowed, he said, “You should try the wine.”

“I think I’ll stick with the ale.”  Fili threw a glance to where hobbits were still smashing grapes on the tarp.  He preferred his wine without the flavoring of hobbit feet. 

The gaffer followed his glance and laughed.  “That’s just a tradition.  We have a press we use for the actual wine.” 

“Excuse me,” Kili said, “but we don’t know much about your festival, aside from it’s a celebration of Yavanna.  What are we expected to do, exactly?”

“Do?”  The gaffer gave a befuddled blink before realization crossed his face.  “We aren’t like your dwarf worship rites, where you got to stand up, sit down, say the proper words in the right order or else.  No sirree!  We appreciate the fruits of our labor, and acknowledge all that our lady Yavanna has blessed us with throughout the year.  And you’re already doing that, now aren’t you?”  He raised his glass. 

“I suppose we are.”  Fili tapped his mug against the gaffer’s glass before taking a sip.

“Never let it be said that hobbits don’t know how to throw a party.”  The gaffer gave Fili a nudge with his elbow. 

Fili spilled his ale, and just managed to keep it from going down the front of his shirt. 

The gaffer didn’t notice.  He bellowed, “Althea, Azalea!  Come fetch our guests!”

Two women came over from the tables.  They were obviously sisters, both with curly brown hair and brown eyes so dark they were almost black.  One plucked the mug from Fili’s hand and took his arm, while the other took Kili’s hand. 

“Show them how we celebrate Yavanna,” the gaffer said. 

The girl started tugging on Fili’s arm, while the gaffer turned away to follow a woman carrying a platter of smoked fish.  Fili supposed he should be flattered to have held the old hobbit’s attention for so long, with all the food and drink being passed around. 

Fili realized he was being guided to the tarp and hesitated.  “I couldn’t possibly…”  He didn’t know how to finish without seeming rude, so he gestured to the grapes. 

The girl looked down.  “Your feet are sort of small, but I imagine you’ll manage just fine.”

Before Fili could protest further, Kili grabbed his other arm and started pulling him along.  Laughter laced his voice as he said, “She’s right, brother.  You’ll just have to manage with your tiny feet.” 

Fili muttered, “I’ll show you _tiny feet_.”  He couldn’t hide his smile, though.

Kili just laughed as Fili gave in to the inevitable.  Soon enough he found himself linked arm in arm with Kili on one side and Azalea on the other, laughing and trying not to fall into a mess of squashed grapes.  He almost slipped but was able to regain his balance.  Kili wasn’t so lucky, and wound up with stained trousers when he fell to his knees.  He wasn’t the only one, and they joined in the good-natured teasing whenever someone went down, and helped more than one person up from the slippery mess.  When they finally escaped the grape pit, they were greeted with an ewer of water.  It rinsed away the stickiness, but their feet were stained red. 

A few people with instruments had set up at one end of the clearing, and Fili was dragged off by yet another hobbit to join in the dancing.  Once a few hobbits were brave enough to dance with a strange dwarf, there was no shortage of eager partners.  Fili was twirled from person to person, through song after song, until he had to call for a break.  He’d lost track of Kili, but a quick glance found him to one side of the big party tree. 

Kili was sitting on the ground, surrounded by tiny hobbit fauntlings and scattered flowers.  There was a toddler splayed in his lap, fighting off sleep and watching the dancers with droopy eyes.  A girl was instructing him on making flower crowns, with the help of several other children who were confusing the matter and bickering over the best types of flowers to use.  All of them were wearing flower crowns, some better constructed than others.  Kili had on at least three, with another daisy chain around his neck. 

Fili’s attention was drawn away by a hobbit offering a goblet of wine.  Keeping the gaffer’s earlier assurances in mind, he accepted it, along with a taste of the smoked sausage offered with it.  He sat at one of the many picnic tables lined up to the side to relax and catch his breath. 

A man plopped down on the bench beside him, making it bounce with his weight.  “You should try the meat pie.  It’s better than that sausage.” 

Before Fili could say anything, the man had called to someone who brought over two servings of the pie in question. 

He took a tentative bite, then another with a moan.  “This is excellent.”

The man grinned and clapped Fili on the back.  “It’s good, I’ll grant you, but you should try the blackberry cobbler, too.” 

Another shout brought the cobbler, which led to more people bringing more things for Fili to try.  Fili did his best to keep up, but wound up stuffed full.  The man next to him shrugged and took Fili’s plate, finishing it off before getting up and going in search of more ale.  Fili couldn’t figure out how the hobbits ate so much without being perfectly round.  Hard work can only explain so much.  They much have the metabolism of a hummingbird. 

The bench jostled again as Kili sat down.  He dropped a flower crown on Fili’s head before leaning back against the table, propping his elbows behind him and letting his head fall back. 

Fili brushed Kili’s hair to one side so it wouldn’t wind up in a discarded plate of breadcrumbs.  Kili’s face was flushed with exertion and ale, he had gained more necklaces made of flowers and wheat, and he was wearing a broad smile. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Fili asked him. 

“This ambassador job isn’t half bad.”  He raised his glass in in a salute before taking a swig.  He let his head fall to the side to rest on Fili’s shoulder and closed his eyes.  “Yavanna’s blessings upon you, Fee.”

“Happy Durin’s Day, Kee.”  Fili dropped a kiss to the top of Kili’s head.

 


End file.
